


Now I'm Here

by Syrum



Series: Perfect just the way you are [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Orgasm, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Coming In Pants, Coming Out, Crowley is a Good Boyfriend, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Healthy Relationships, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Understanding Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-20 22:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: He's broken.  Aziraphale knows it, canfeelit, and he isn't quite sure what - if anything - he can do about it.  All he knows is that it will take nothing short of a miracle to keep Crowley by his side.Crowley isn't sure what's wrong with his angel.  What he does know is that he's not letting Aziraphale go any time soon, even if that means admitting something he'd rather not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WarlockWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarlockWriter/gifts).



> So, funny story, the utterly glorious [WarlockWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/warlockwriter) (who also beta read this and is wonderful) sent me a prompt;
> 
>  
> 
> _Aziraphale is ace. Crowley isn't but doesn't care. Slow burn and mutual pining while Crowley convinces Aziraphale that love is more important than sex._
> 
>  
> 
> At the time I got this, I was already a good couple of thousand words into this story! Great minds, and all that.
> 
> The story is finished and just being tweaked now, so updates will be posted frequently.

It wasn’t the first time they had kissed - far from it.  In fact, the semi-regular locking of lips had progressed from an accidental and inelegant press of mouths while they were already several bottles in, to - well, to whatever they were doing at that moment.

Crowley wasn’t entirely certain  _ what _ they were doing, but he was pretty sure he liked it.

If, in fact, anyone had ever bothered to ask Crowley about his first kiss with Aziraphale, they might well have received one of a possible two unlikely tales.  This did, of course, depend entirely on who was actually doing the asking and why. The first, and more widely telegraphed story, would be that he had never so much as touched the angel.  They were most decidedly enemies on opposite sides of the heaven-hell war, and that he didn’t so much as like the pretentious git. At all. In fact, they hadn’t even met.  

That would, of course, have been a lie.

The other, and entirely less likely story to ever be vocalised - unless one happened to be an entirely neutral party who  _ also  _ happened to have the foresight provide two or three bottles of a decent quality scotch to loosen Crowley’s tongue before posing the question - involved rather more demonic corruption of one of God’s messengers.  Which isn’t to say that his impassioned recount of pinning Aziraphale against the eastern gate of the Garden of Eden and kissing the goodness out of him entirely was any more truthful than the alternative, but it did serve to illustrate just how long he had been utterly gone for the angel.

Aziraphale, of course, recalled their first kiss rather differently.   _ His _ version - and he did only have the one, being an Angel of the Lord and therefore morally against the telling of falsehoods in almost all forms.  At least, in theory - involved rather less denial, absolutely no pinning-to-walls whatsoever, and a backing track of no fewer than sixteen different types of birdsong.  What Aziraphale couldn’t possibly realise, however, was that his version was  _ also _ entirely false - yes, they had traded a fumbling, inexperienced kiss at the bandstand at four in the morning at the height of summer.  And yes, he had flushed in a pleased sort of embarrassment when Crowley’s face lit up brighter than Blackpool Illuminations as he realised, after a scant handful of moments, what Aziraphale had just done - but that hadn’t been their first.

It hadn’t even been their second, but the memory of lips and teeth and tongue are too easily forgotten to the haze of alcohol and centuries when there is no real pressing need to recall them.  Not when it was something that felt all too natural, as though it had simply always  _ been _ .  Always would be, if Crowley had anything to say about it.

Which, considering he had spent the past few minutes trying to coax Aziraphale’s tongue back into his mouth from where it had retreated behind the angel’s teeth and therefore entirely unable to speak, it was rather unlikely that he would be saying much about anything for the foreseeable future.  Not that he minded in the slightest. Really, it was the best afternoon he could recall having in at least two decades, if not three.

They had been three quarters of the way into a bottle of cabernet sauvignon that had cost more than the average weekly food bill for a family of four, and the angel had leaned over to kiss him.  It had been a rather delightful surprise, considering their track record. With that one, notable exception two years prior - the memory of which still set butterflies fluttering within Crowley’s chest - the demon had initiated every single one of their following encounters.  Which wasn’t to say that Aziraphale was anything other than willing; he was a more than enthusiastic participant in their more personal get-togethers, he simply didn’t seem to want to  _ start _ them.

It had all seemed rather irrelevant, who started what when, at least to Crowley.  Right up until the point where suddenly it wasn’t, with a lap filled by an eager and slightly dishevelled angel and hands that wanted to touch  _ everywhere _ .

Despite his status as one of the fallen - one of the  _ original _ demons - Crowley had never been overly interested in the pleasures of the flesh.  The whole thing seemed too indisputably  _ human _ for him, and he couldn’t quite understand why anyone would bother going to the effort required for five minutes of endorphins and exertion.  Some of his co-workers had, of course. Not many, mind; it was well-known that demons were notoriously unimaginative, a trait which didn’t exactly lend itself to an inspired sex life.  Still, the overly enthusiastic endorsements of those who  _ had _ given sex a try had come to Crowley’s attention on more than one occasion, it just hadn’t really  _ appealed  _ to him before.

He was entirely  _ delighted _ to have been proved wrong.  The kissing had been nice, certainly, but this?  This was something  _ new _ and  _ exciting _ , and the body he had been issued prior to his exit from hell after his last discorporation certainly seemed to agree.  It was eagerly reacting to the press of heat across his chest, down to the thick thighs that straddled his own, pushing up against Aziraphale’s too-hot form even as he pulled the angel closer, until-

_ Oh. _

The shudder that ran through him was full-bodied and wonderful, and Crowley had at least the presence of mind to wrench his mouth away before he could bite down on the cautiously exploring tongue that had just begun to press tentatively back against his own in a clear request for the permission he had given eons ago.

“Crowley?  Are you quite alright?”  Aziraphale was looking down at him from his lap, concern painted across his features, kiss-bitten lips puffed and swollen as a nervous tongue flicked out to swipe across them.  Crowley couldn’t help the way his yellow-eyed gaze flicked to the movement, nor could he prevent the slow, lazy smile that stretched across his face, eyes lidded and undeniably  _ pleased _ .

“I’m  _ perfect _ , angel.”  He hummed, body lax in a way he couldn’t entirely understand yet, the wet patch at the front of his jeans not quite at the point of discomfort.  Aziraphale was warm in his arms, and he was happy enough to stay where he was, for the moment at least.

 

* * *

He understood the theory of the thing, of course.  How could he not? Aziraphale had been assigned to Earth since the very beginning, since the  _ before _ , and likely would be until the  _ after _ as well if he was allowed to exist for that long.  Despite his complete disregard for the practice as a whole, it would have been an unforgivable oversight had he entirely ignored the existence of such an important act.

So of course, he knew the  _ what _ , the  _ why  _ and the  _ how _ .  In theory.

Intercourse was a requirement to ensure the continued existence of humanity as a whole, of  _ all _ living species on the mudball of a planet that they called home.  It was a necessity, and one which needed to continue if life  _ itself  _ was to continue, yet Aziraphale could not for the life of him understand why the Almighty had chosen to make it so, well... _ messy _ .

The one aspect of it he couldn’t understand however, no matter how hard he tried, was the need for humans - and a select few other species - to pursue the act of physical intimacy beyond what was absolutely required for reproduction.  For  _ pleasure _ .  The whole thing really was entirely baffling.

He had tried, just the once.  Angels simply didn’t  _ do _ that sort of thing, and yet the curiosity had gotten the better of him one quiet evening, curled up alone and comfortable in a too-large bed that he didn’t need and wasn’t technically his anyway.  Taking himself in hand, it had taken rather a lot longer than he thought it really  _ should _ , and by the time the cresting wave of pleasantness washed over him his arm was tired and he wondered again at the  _ why _ of it.  The whole thing really was, in his opinion, rather too much effort.

Which was why, seated upon Crowley’s lap in the dim mood lighting of his shop with the buzz of alcohol running through his system, it took Aziraphale a good couple of minutes to understand just what precisely had happened.

He felt - well, he wasn’t entirely sure  _ how _ he felt.  Shocked, certainly.  Flustered, though that much was a given.  Oddly proud, if he was being entirely honest with himself, and while he would need to unpick that particular emotion in great detail once he was sober and without company, he left it alone for the moment.

Mostly though, Aziraphale felt a bubbling layer of concern coat his insides.  Not over what they - he, Crowley - had just done, but over what he  _ hadn’t _ .  A half-drunk fumble had brought the demon to a fairly satisfying-looking climax within his trousers, and Aziraphale?

He wasn’t even hard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favourite ineffable husbands have a much-needed conversation.
> 
> Whether it actually helps remains to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thusly, chapter two was born!

Something was almost certainly wrong with the angel.  Crowley watched as Aziraphale flitted about the place, keeping his seat upon the leather two-seater sofa.  The same seat, in fact, that he had occupied during their last little private soiree, the memory triggering a pleasant little buzz somewhere in his chest.

He had asked, of course - because while the angel was more than happy to bottle up anything he might consider to be  _ inconvenient _ , Crowley most certainly was not.  It was always better to get things out in the open, he thought.  Less chance of an accidental misunderstanding or crossed wires, that way.

“Aziraphale, would you  _ please _ sit down?”  He finally huffed, slumping in his seat with his long legs extended before him.  “It’s exhausting just watching you.”

“Sorry, yes.”  He hadn’t sat, but at least the restless shuffling had stopped, Aziraphale’s hands having paused, frozen, over a volume of  _ The Return of the King _ that was in all likelihood - knowing him - an original first edition.  “Sorry.”

“Talk to me.”  Crowley tucked himself back against the button-studded upholstery, leaning forwards so that he could rest his forearms against his knees, hands clasped together as he stared up at his friend over the rims of his glasses.  “I can’t help if you won’t talk to me.”

“Alright.”  Aziraphale did, finally, sit.  Not beside Crowley on the sofa, much to the demon’s disappointment, but in one of the comfortable reading chairs just out of immediate reach.  Close enough to talk, but with enough distance between them that it made it clear enough that any actual physical contact was off the table for the moment.  “Alright, but you must promise not to laugh at me.”

“Why on  _ earth  _ would I laugh at you, angel?”  He couldn’t help the slight twinge of hurt because, really, when had Crowley  _ ever _ laughed at his friend?   _ With _ , certainly, but never  _ at _ .  Or, well, not intentionally at least - there had been that time in Rome with the misunderstanding in the bath house.  And the time he’d had to rescue the angel from almost managing to sell himself for two camels and a goat, of course. But still, he hadn’t  _ meant  _ to laugh, it had just sort of...slipped out.

“It’s about the other day.”  Crowley had guessed as much, would have had to have been downright ignorant  _ not _ to have realised that his friend’s odd behaviour had stemmed from their rather unexpected evening activities of two days prior.  Not that he understood precisely what was bothering Aziraphale, but clearly  _ something _ had gotten into his head and was refusing to leave.  

“Go on.”

“Yes.  The-” Aziraphale seemed to flail for a moment, his hand making an odd circular motion in the air even as his cheeks coloured ever so slightly.  “-sex thing.”

“Sex thing.”  He repeated, lips pursed into what he hoped was a pensive expression rather than the odd surge of panic that had exploded within the general area of his stomach.  Because if Aziraphale had realised, in the heat of the moment and while giving Crowley nothing short of a  _ revelation _ that he did not, in fact, wish to have any sort of actual attachment to him - romantic or otherwise-

“Well, you see, I went and spoke to Gabriel about it.”  Whatever direction Crowley’s thoughts had been heading in, and he was self-aware enough to know it hadn’t been anywhere good, that was enough to entirely stop them in their tracks.

“You spoke to your boss.  About sex.” Crowley did not, it had to be said, have the highest opinion of Gabriel.

In fact, at that precise moment in time he had been in the general vicinity of the archangel a grand total of three times.  The very first had at the dawn of their existence, before his fall from grace, when he held another long-forgotten name. Crowley had been little more than another faceless angel amongst all the other nobodies who milled around heaven waiting for instructions from Her-upstairs.  Gabriel had not so much as looked their way, entirely too high and mighty to bother himself with the  _ riff-raff _ .

The second was immediately after his descent, when his black feathers had started to replace the white and he spent more time in his serpent form than as an angel, embarrassed at the mottled and unkempt salt-and-pepper appearance of his wings.  Back when he had been  _ Crawly _ , and although he wasn’t certain who had swapped his name out or why, he was very much aware - somehow - that he hadn’t done so himself.  Gabriel had visited the Garden, sneered at it for a moment, and then left again.

The third time had been on Earth; Crowley had been keeping an eye on Aziraphale - for the other side, of course, not because his not-friend had been clearly upset about something and wouldn’t talk to him about it - and while the archangel hadn’t seen him, he had  _ more _ than noticed Gabriel.  Vicious, cruel and spiteful, he had left Aziraphale so utterly  _ miserable _ that Crowley was half-tempted to light the archangel’s wings on fire - and  _ Crowley _ was meant to be the evil one?

Needless to say, Crowley’s opinion of Gabriel was about as low as it was possible to get.

“Yes- oh don’t look at me like that, what  _ else  _ was I supposed to do?”

“You could try talking to  _ me _ about it, for one thing!”  Anger flared within, sharp and direct, and Crowley’s eyes flashed with displeasure.  If asked, he likely would not have been able to voice his irritation in a manner that didn’t sound utterly unreasonable and thoroughly bratty, but it wasn’t as though he had any  _ experience _ with this sort of thing.  Nor did he have anyone on  _ his _ side he could speak with, either - not that it would be any of their business.  Regardless,  _ he _ was the one who had ruined his favourite pair of jeans, not some featherbrained prick from upstairs, and it was the principle of the thing.

“I  _ know _ , I know I should have- but you see Crowley I wasn’t sure what to  _ do. _ ”  He looked so utterly distressed that it took everything Crowley had not to reach out and take his hand, to offer the grounding reassurance that they had built upon for so many years.  

“So did he have any particular pearls of wisdom to share?”  It took a moment, and a breathing exercise he had learned while wasting a few decades in Peru, for Crowley to rein himself in and get his temper back under control.

“Well it’s all rather embarrassing, actually - he  _ laughed _ at me.”  

“He what?”  The question erupted from his throat, a growl that really shouldn’t have been possible from the mouth of a serpent, regardless of his current form.  Crowley saw red.  

That explained by Aziraphale was so concerned with  _ Crowley _ laughing at him; if he had already been led to believe that the concerns bouncing around in that pretty head of his were ridiculous,  _ laughable _ , then of course he would have worried himself sick about it!  No wonder it had taken so long to get to the crux of the matter.

“I asked him what the official stance was on angels doing - well, you know,  _ that _ .  And he  _ laughed. _   Apparently there  _ isn’t _ an official stance, we can do as we please and they’ve  _ all _ been going at it for millennia.”

“All of them?”  That was - well, something of a surprise, at least.  Aziraphale was fiddling with his pocket watch chain, adjusting it and running the antique bronze links between his fingers.  It was a nervous habit, one he had picked up in France around the eighteen-hundreds, if Crowley remembered correctly.

“I believe the phrase he used was, ‘like rabbits’.”  And- oh, that put a few things into perspective, now, didn’t it?  Crowley wondered for a moment whether the holier-than-thou heavenly host preferred the company of their own kind in the sack, or if any warm body would do.

He might have to find out, one of these days.  It would make good leverage.

“And, what, no one thought to let you in on it?”  It all seemed a bit cruel, really. Not entirely unexpected, considering the sorts of angels he had known in his time upstairs and their ridiculously insular attitudes, but still.  Demons really weren’t so bad, compared to all that.

“I suppose they assumed I wasn’t- well that’s not the point though, is it?”

“So what  _ is _ the point?”

“I’m  _ broken _ , Crowley.”  He looked so pained, so open and vulnerable that Crowley could not remain still any longer.  The twitch of his arms to his sides, hands pressing against leather to push himself upright, drew a flinch from Aziraphale and Crowley slowed but didn’t stop.

“What are you talking about, angel?  You’re not  _ broken _ .”  Two fingers reached out to trace across the back of Aziraphale’s tightly clenched hands and the angel didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax into the touch either.  Kneeling before Aziraphale’s feet, Crowley tugged his glasses free to give himself an unobstructed view of his friend.

“No, I  _ am!  _  Everyone up there is just...getting on with it - God gave us the option, you see.  If we want to, if we try  _ very _ hard, sex is possible for us too.  Not just humans or demons,  _ everyone _ .”  Aziraphale’s knuckles had turned a bone-white from how tightly his hands clenched, and Crowley took both gently within his own, running both thumbs slowly over the soft skin until some of the building tension finally bled out.  There would be half-moon shaped divots in Aziraphale’s palm if he wished to look, he knew, though hopefully not deep enough to have drawn blood.

“So you’re a few years behind, big deal.  Is that what’s bothering you, a little inexperience?”

“No, it’s not-”  He paused, tongue flicking out to moisten too-dry lips and Aziraphale wasn’t meeting Crowley’s eyes.  “I don’t  _ want  _ to.  Everyone else does,  _ you _ do, but I just...don’t.  Not with  _ anyone _ , the thought of it just-”  A shiver traveled across Aziraphale’s shoulders, joining with the tremor in his hands.  It would have been very easy, at that point, for Crowley to take the entire confession out of context.  He had done it often enough before after all; a perceived personal slight where none was meant.

But this was Aziraphale.

“Oh.”  Crowley went very quiet for a moment, considering.  The noise in the room reduced to the nervous, fast breaths that Aziraphale kept sucking in, either on the verge of panicking or fleeing and neither one of them were quite sure which.

“So I can understand if-”

“It’s fine.”

“Sorry?”  

“I said it’s  _ fine _ , angel.  You don’t want to get down and dirty, that’s  _ fine _ .”  There was a pause, the angel blinking down at him in a doubtful sort of surprise that had, at least, served to slow his panicked breathing.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”  Aziraphale tugged his hands free from Crowley’s grasp, smoothing his palms down the crease punctuating each trouser leg.  He stopped only when Crowley crossed both arms over the top of his knees, leaning his chin atop one downturned wrist and catching Aziraphale’s eye.

“I mean it’s not a problem.  You, me - we’ve been together right since the start, haven’t we.  Well, maybe not  _ together  _ together, but you know what I mean.  Last time was  _ nice _ , but if that’s not your thing I’m not going to leave you because of it.”  The demon’s lips quirked up in a small smirk. “I mean, it’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“But it’s  _ your _ ‘thing’.”  He even managed the air quotes, and Crowley found that to be far more adorable than it really had any right being.

“So?  Since when does what  _ I _ want automatically overrule what  _ you _ want?  Because of something that stuffy, feather-brained asshole from upstairs said?”  It was -  _ upsetting _ , really.  The thought that Aziraphale was more concerned about Crowley than he was about himself.  The realisation that he thought Crowley wouldn’t want to be around him without  _ that _ being part of their relationship.

The knowledge that  _ his _ angel had so little self-worth that he thought himself  _ broken _ over something so inconsequential to their relationship.

“Well, no, but-”

“No ‘but’s.”  He paused for a moment, a frown creasing between his brows before smoothing out again, the choice between honesty and deception terrifyingly easy.  “I’ll miss the kissing, I admit.”

“Oh we can keep doing the kissing.”  Aziraphale amended quickly, a light flush colouring his previously too-pale cheeks as he dipped his head in a pleased sort of embarrassment.  “I like the kissing.”

“Good!  That’s settled, then.  You keep kissing me, I’ll keep kissing you, and we’ll figure everything else out as we go along.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Crowley is oddly sensible, Aziraphale might be on the verge of a breakdown and the dreaded four words are spoken; 
> 
> We Need To Talk.
> 
> Were emotions always this difficult to navigate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've split the final chapter into two, as it fits better that way - so this is now a four-part story!
> 
> The final chapter will be up tomorrow night, please enjoy :)

Despite Aziraphale’s rather reluctant agreement that all was not entirely lost because of his perceived ‘brokenness’, things did not go back to normal after their little talk.

Not that Crowley expected the return of normalcy immediately of course, but when three weeks later they were still in the same mess they’d found themselves in on day one, he was certain that even Aziraphale would need to admit it was bordering on the ridiculous.  The whole situation was undeniably frustrating for Crowley; it felt as though the angel was determined to spend precisely half of his time avoiding him, and the other half walking on eggshells of his own creation. He was twitchy, irritable and wouldn’t so much as entertain the idea of sitting down with a bottle of wine for a good chat.  Or a good makeout session, for that matter.

Crowley  _ missed _ it.  He missed the closeness, the feel of his angel beneath his hands and lips, the connection that he hadn’t known he so desperately needed until they’d forged it.  For all that Aziraphale had said he wanted to continue to enjoy their time together, he would jump a mile each time Crowley so much as tried to hold his  _ hand _ .

It was, quite frankly, ridiculous.   _ He _ was ridiculous.  He could handle Aziraphale pulling away a little while he tried to figure out what went where again, that wasn’t a problem.  Hell, if he woke up tomorrow to the news that kissing was out the window and cuddles were a no-no too, he’d deal with it. What he  _ couldn’t _ handle was the odd sort of limbo that he’d found himself in.  The not-quite-sure, the second guessing, and the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d somehow inadvertently caused all of this.

Which, Crowley was a demon - if he even so much as  _ suspected _ that it might be his fault, then in all likelihood it probably was.

Which, in turn, left him with two possible options.  Firstly, he could allow the simmering irritation and self-doubt to bubble over into resentment, probably end up picking a fight and potentially lose Aziraphale altogether for a decade or so until the angel found it in him to forgive his stupid ass - again - and let him back into his life.

Or, he could be sensible about this.  

The internet was truly a wonderful creation.  One of the best, really. Anything and everything Crowley could ever want, all at the touch of a button.  He could buy anything, legal or not, get it delivered anywhere in the world and for far less money than from a bricks-and-mortar shop.  Not that he particularly needed the discount, but there was something oddly satisfying about it anyway.

There was a lot of scope for the internet, so much potential for the corruption of souls.  Or, as was more his style in recent decades, the potential for taking  _ credit _ for the corruption of souls.  The humans managed to do  _ that _ just fine on their own.

Shopping was not at the top of his to-do list for the moment.  For now, there was something else he wanted - a quick google search gave him the terms he needed, and within ten minutes he had three browser windows open with enough tabs that it would give any computer technician a coronary just to see.  There was a lot to learn, if he were to not only understand what Aziraphale was going through but also help to talk the angel through it, and he was more than willing to take the time to do so. After all, knowing how his friend worked, it wasn’t likely he would take the time or the initiative himself.

Besides, a few days without seeing one another wasn’t likely to hurt - probably.

 

* * *

Aziraphale was terribly, horribly frustrated about the whole thing.  Well, about his own reaction to it, considering there was no one else on whom any blame could fall save himself.

Well, himself and potentially Gabriel, considering his present state might have been averted had he been better equipped beforehand to deal with the fallout of that ill-fated night.  The night which had ruined  _ everything _ , all because he hadn’t known just how horribly broken he was beforehand.

Had he always been this way?  Or, was this what happened to angels who avoided physical intimacy for too long?  God wouldn’t have made him ‘wrong’, surely - She may have been ineffable but she was never _wrong_ - which meant that this entire mess was of his doing.  Crowley was upset with him, that much was clear - he hadn’t tried to push his way into Aziraphale’s space since their last talk, had backed off almost entirely, to the point where every little interaction had him second-guessing himself.

Heaven help him, he  _ missed _ Crowley.

The back room of his shop seemed too dark and too warm, claustrophobic in a way it had never been before.  The books piled on every available surface loomed over him, and Aziraphale tossed the tome he had been reading onto one of the precarious stacks before vacating the small space as swiftly as his legs would allow.

By contrast, the shop itself seemed too bright, oddly so considering the clutter and shelving that blocked the view in and out.  The blinds were up and mid-morning light filtering in to highlight the rows upon rows of old and battered books, a warm glow which didn’t seem to quite reach Aziraphale himself.  Dust motes hovered, suspended in the still air and he stood for a long while, simply staring at the barely moving almost-shapes. What was he to  _ do? _   None of the books in his possession were of any use; the only real reference he had to physical intimacy was a fairly old volume detailing what a wife should and shouldn’t do to please her husband - which, he couldn’t recall purchasing and was rather inclined to burn after having read the first few pages - a couple of magazines from the local newsagents that had more on nail polish and the latest  _ Love Island  _ gossip than any real, useful tips, and an odd book about dachshund breeding that he had ordered for a customer a few years ago and which had never been collected.

In all, it had been an entirely wasted few days.  He had spent far more time fretting than he had researching how he might fix things with his - what was Crowley, to him?  For everything they had suffered through together, and for the bond he knew they shared, ‘friend’ didn’t quite cover it any more.  It didn’t feel right, wasn’t quite enough. For all the languages Aziraphale knew, he couldn’t for the life of him come up with anything which quite fit what the demon meant to him.

_ Everything _ , his chest seemed to suggest as it clenched in sympathy for his plight.  Everything, and this ridiculous hang-up he had regarding sex had  _ damaged _ that.  Ruined it.

The knock at his shop door dragged him from his internal musing and Aziraphale jumped, spinning to look at the still-closed entrance.  It was long past opening time, and his shutters were up, why would-

Oh.  Well, damn - when was the last time he had actually unlocked the doors?  Had he opened his store at  _ all _ in the past week?  Aziraphale couldn’t really recall.  It didn’t really  _ matter _ , he supposed, he didn’t need the money and at no point wished to actually  _ sell _ any of his prized collection of books - but, appearances were important, and he had been rather lacking on that front of late.

Aziraphale hadn’t really expected a customer to be knocking on his door - he had scant few of those even on a supposed ‘good’ day.  The delivery driver, perhaps; it was the right time of day for their arrival, though he couldn’t recall if he was actually expecting anything that week.  His regular post almost always fit through the single-flap letterbox, and had already been delivered that morning anyway - or had that been yesterday? He wasn’t quite sure.

What he actually got, upon opening the door, was a slightly frazzled-looking Crowley carrying a decidedly unremarkable reusable shopping tote from Waitrose in one hand, and a box from the patisserie around the corner in the other.

“We need to talk.”  Was all he said, before pushing the box into Aziraphale’s previously unoccupied hands, stepping into the shop, and locking the door behind him.

 

* * *

Crowley was, had always been, exceedingly good with words.  He could talk a stranger into purchasing his  _ own  _ wares before the unfortunate victim would pass both goods and money on to the demon, all the while smiling as he was left without either.  He had to be - it was part of the job description, after all. He wouldn’t have made much of himself if he hadn’t been able to talk rings around anyone he pleased.  Nor would he have been able to talk the Dark Council into believing he had managed to procure more souls than any other demon in existence, despite his rather marked absence from most of the events he took credit for.

The phrase ‘selling ice to Eskimos’ had always been a particular favourite of Crowley’s.

The skill did not, it seemed, extend to any sort of conversation or interaction with Aziraphale.  Which was how he managed to find himself standing in the middle of A.Z. Fell and Co. on a Wednesday morning just before noon, without the faintest idea how to actually  _ start _ the conversation he had driven all the way to Soho to initiate.

Perhaps greeting the angel with a ‘we need to talk’ hadn’t been one of his better ideas, in hindsight, judging by the vaguely terrified flutter that seemed to run through his friend.  Not when they  _ hadn’t  _ really talked in days, and the continuation of their relationship might well hinge on how well Crowley managed to navigate his way through the next few minutes.  And  _ certainly _ not when those four words apparently often signified the end of a romantic relationship, if popular media was to be believed.

“They’re for you.”  He finally managed, indicating the slightly squashed box Aziraphale was clutching as though his very life depended on it.  Crowley wasn’t entirely sure if he himself had managed to damage the peace offering - or was it a bribe? It could have been either, he supposed - or whether it had happened since passing off the fragile packaging, but considering the contents he didn’t suppose it really mattered.

“Oh.”  It was enough to break the odd tension that hovered between them, like too much static on the surface of a balloon.  The box lid flipped up and Aziraphale’s smile was near-blinding. “ _ Eclairs! _   Oh, you  _ do _ spoil me, Crowley.”  He released the breath he hadn’t been aware he had been holding, returning the expression with a rather too shaky smile of his own.

And really, why in the hell was he so nervous?  He had spent more than enough time, effort and money on making absolutely certain that he couldn’t possibly make more of a mess of things.  And this was  _ Aziraphale _ \- they had known one another for long enough by that point.  Even if he  _ did _ manage to monumentally screw the whole thing up, they would find their way back together again.  Eventually.

_ Because this actually matters _ , something terrifying whispered in the back of his mind.   _ Because there’s no coming back from this _ .

“You’re worth spoiling, angel.”  The words seemed to slip out, unbidden, and yet once they were free he could not find it in himself to care.  It wasn’t as though they weren’t the truth, after all. “I, ah- I got you something else as well.” The bag in his hand seemed too heavy in that moment, and his fingers tightened in reflex.  “We should probably sit.”

“You really don’t have to  _ buy _ me things, you know.”  Aziraphale’s attention kept flitting back to the open box cradled against his chest with no small amount of reverence, and Crowley had to hide his small, amused smile at the sight - although,  _ why _ did he have to hide it?  This wasn’t some secret, forbidden thing.  This was a relationship he was trying to salvage with the angel he adored.

So why was he still  _ hiding _ ?

“I know I don’t  _ have _ to.”  The seat squeaked as he sat, bag abandoned for the moment against the wooden leg of the large wing-backed reading chair.  If Aziraphale noticed his change in habit by occupying anything other than one of his two favourite seats, he didn’t mention it.  “I want to.” Crowley paused, and really it wasn’t like him to second guess himself quite to this extent. “It’s not...too much, is it?”

“What?”  Aziraphale glanced up in surprise from the regency-styled plates he had miracled into being, fine Royal Crown Derby things in a pale turquoise-blue and gold that would have each been worth a pretty penny.  “Oh, no, not at all.” One of the plates, topped with an oozing chocolate-striped monstrosity of a pastry, was pushed into Crowley’s hand and he took it without complaint.

“It’s just, I know how much you like these.”

“You always have known me so well.”  It sounded almost wistful, as thought there was an odd sadness to it, and Crowley could not help the slight downturn of his lips in a pensive frown that was gone before his friend could look back up at him.  “Tea?”

“Please.”  The teapot and cups matched the plates, which should have been entirely unsurprising.  The fanciful china wasn’t to Crowley’s taste, yet as he watched Aziraphale delicately pour the steaming infusion into one of the dainty cups as it sat atop a matching saucer, he found that he couldn’t imagine things any other way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which misunderstandings happen, a conclusion is reached, and Aziraphale isn't certain he could love Crowley more if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the end! Thank you everyone for your lovely comments, they make me so happy :) I'm really glad you could all come on this journey with me, and hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.

They sat for a long while, the low chatter between them scarcely scratching the surface of what needed to be covered.  It was  _ pleasant _ , in the way that all of their amicable conversations were pleasant.  But it wasn’t what needed to be said.

“Aziraphale, can we talk?”  Crowley downed the last few dregs of his tea and set the cup back down on its saucer with a soft click.  The air seemed to drain from the room, and he didn’t miss the low bob of his companion’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“We’re talking now, though - isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“Well yes, but-”  Like tearing off a plaster, Crowley reminded himself.  “Look, we can’t keep going on like this, and I just thought-”  

“This is the part where we...seperate, I’m assuming.”  It wasn’t a question, or at least hadn’t been phrased as one.  The jolt which travelled through Crowley near enough  _ hurt _ as he realised with no small amount of horror that Aziraphale had not only considered this as an option, but had  _ expected  _ it.  Had dragged on the general chatter of unimportance because he believed he was delaying the inevitable, and  _ didn’t want Crowley to leave _ .

“What?”  Crowley’s jaw went slack, staring at Aziraphale for half a beat as his stomach turned itself over and for one terrifying moment he thought he might be sick.  “No,  _ no! _   Angel, no.  I’m not breaking up with you, that’s not what this is!”

“Isn’t it?”  The expression that coloured Aziraphale’s face wasn’t one Crowley had been on the receiving end of before, and he had no idea how to actually read it.  A resigned sort of acceptance that he knew he didn’t like. “I don’t even know where we stand with one another. What am I to you, Crowley? What are  _ we _ ?”

“Everything.”  He whispered back, too quiet and too loud and perhaps just a little bit broken.  “Aziraphale you are  _ everything _ to me.  You always have been, and I-”  Crowley’s brain stuttered to a complete and final stop.

“Crowley?”  He had stopped, mid-sentence, mouth working at words that wouldn’t quite materialise.  The sight of it must have been concerning enough to pull Aziraphale from his self-destructive spiral, and Crowley didn’t miss the twitch of his hands as he tampered down the need to reach out.

“I love you.”  It might have been a revelation, if it hadn’t been the most openly obvious thing.  Too obvious, perhaps, a wealth of feeling that had simply always been there. An emotion Crowley had taken for granted without ever bothering to name it because it had never  _ not _ existed.  “I  _ love _ you, angel.”

“You- what?”

“I’m  _ in love _ with you.”  Crowley was on his feet before he truly realised that he had moved, closing the distance between them in one long stride.  Aziraphale’s knees ended up bracketed between his own, face cradled between the palms of two hands that Crowley was surprised to find remained oddly steady, considering his admission.

“You’re in love.”  Aziraphale asked, incredulous.

“Yes.”

“With  _ me _ .”

“Yes, angel.”

“ _ Why? _ ”  He seemed to be entirely baffled by the whole idea, and Crowley couldn’t help the slight twinge of hurt despite knowing full well that a lack of reciprocation was - well, it was a distinct possibility.

“Why wouldn’t I be?  You’re my best friend, have been for a while now actually.  Can’t quite recall when  _ that _ happened.  You’re sweet, thoughtful, and just enough of an insufferable pain to keep me on my toes.”  Crowley’s thumbs brushed over Aziraphale’s cheekbones, soft and perfectly formed. “Can’t imagine loving anyone else, really.”

“But I’m-”

“I swear, if you say ‘broken’ one more time-”  He wasn’t entirely sure what threat might be suitable, and so left it open-ended.  Best to let the angel wonder rather than promise something he might not be able to follow through with, after all.  “Doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the same, I just…” Crowley let himself trail off, tongue flicking out to moisten lips so dry he thought they might split.  “Needed you to know, is all.”

“I do, though.”  Aziraphale moved to hook two fingers of each hand through the belt loops at Crowley’s hips, fixing him in place by the dark denim of his jeans.  “I’ve loved you for such a long time now, I had no idea you felt the same.”

“How long?”  And perhaps he shouldn’t have asked, it was a bit rude to really, yet the curiosity was near-overwhelming.

“Since that time in the church, 1941.”  There was no hesitation, no doubt whatsoever, just the self-assured certainty of knowing one’s own mind.

“Ah yes.”  Crowley allowed himself to relax, just a little, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as his fingers slid down to rest against the juncture between neck and shoulder.  “The books.” Aziraphale smiled at that, a soft and wistful little expression that coloured his cheeks.

“The books.”  He agreed, and Crowley knew he had made the right decision.

* * *

 

“You know, if you’d let me set you up with a computer, this would have been a whole lot easier.”  Crowley huffed, settling himself back into his usual spot on the two-person loveseat. He hadn’t let go yet, as though afraid Aziraphale might fly off if he allowed so much as a moment of separation.

Which, admittedly, at one point he might have done.

“Why would I want that when I have you here to look things up for me?”  He teased, letting himself be tugged into a one-armed embrace, the plush couch rather more comfortable than his chair.  

“So that’s how it is, is it?”  Crowley was all bones and sharp corners against Aziraphale’s soft curves, and perhaps that was why they fit together so perfectly when he allowed himself to be arranged against the demon’s side.  “I swear, you’re going to end up giving me an ulcer one of these days.”

“Can demons even get ulcers?”

“If we can, you’ll be the second to know.”  He could feel Crowley’s smile against his temple and huffed out a laugh of his own.  The bag that resituated itself onto Aziraphale’s lap without either of them having moved was rather heavy in a familiar sort of way, and he reached out instinctively to grip what he knew to be books.

“Should you be wasting demonic miracles like that?”

“Sloth; one of the seven deadly sins.”  Crowley confirmed, still nuzzling his hair.  “Very evil.”

“Of course, how could I forget.”  Aziraphale replied dryly, and when he dipped his hand into the bag to pull out the pile of books Crowley had brought in for him he felt the demon at his side tense.

There were four books, in total.  None were particularly hefty, and he certainly had nothing of the like anywhere in his shop.  The one atop the pile was entitled  _ The Invisible Orientation: An Introduction to Asexuality _ , its cover a dull white with purple text that should have been entirely uninspiring to look at.  Yet, it was oddly - reassuring? Utterly unassuming, and as Aziraphale flipped it over to read the blurb on the back cover, something seemed to slot into place.

“Oh  _ Crowley. _ ”  

“You’re not broken.”  Crowley hummed against Aziraphale’s scalp, holding onto him so tightly that it almost hurt.  “There are thousands of humans out there, just like you, and  _ they _ aren’t broken either.”

“But I’m not-”  It took a moment, but Aziraphale was finally able to pull near enough free, his heart thudding within his chest with such force that he was certain Crowley must be able to hear it.  “-like you.”

“No, you’re not.”  Crowley agreed, lacing their fingers together atop Aziraphale’s knee.  “But do you know what you  _ are _ , Angel?”

“What’s that?”  The smile that split Crowley’s face was soft, and Aziraphale wasn’t certain he had seen that particular expression before.

“You’re entirely perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started using Tumblr again - hit me up [here](http://syrum.tumblr.com) if you'd like to chat!


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